Constructor: Rachel Fabi and Christina Iverson
Relative difficulty: Easy
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THEME: none
Word of the Day: CROMULENT (1A: Perfectly acceptable, humorously) —
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I think the coolest thing about this puzzle is probably the grid shape. Really love that diagonal mirror symmetry. Very dynamic somehow, and ended up creating the kinds of pathways through the grid that allowed for that "whoosh-whoosh" feeling that I'm typically looking for on Fridays but don't find as often on Saturdays. In fact, in many ways, this felt very much like a Friday puzzle. After I worked out some minor difficulties in the NW corner, there wasn't much left to slow my progress through the rest of the grid. This is likely because so much of the rest of the grid is short stuff. There's enough long stuff to keep things interesting, but you are never at a loss for a toehold—lots of opportunities to grab onto a 4- or 5-letter answer in order to get traction. I never really saw the clues for either BALLET SLIPPER or ATTENTION SPAN, so quickly did both of them fill in because of relatively simple short crosses. The tip of the spear today (metaphorically and, if you squint and imagine the actual NW corner as a kind of spearhead, somewhat literally) is the coming together of two neologisms: CROMULENT (1A: Perfectly acceptable, humorously) and COPYPASTA (1D: Block of text duplicated and reposted online, in internet slang). The former is as familiar to me as the air I breathe (the first decade of "The Simpsons" being as close to a Holy Book as I have), while the latter I have never heard of and don't quite understand the need for. Like, you cut and paste some text ... and? So? Hang on, gotta look up why this even has a name... OK, I'm reading the wikipedia entry for COPYPASTA (one word) and I still don't really get it. Something to do with memes. The examples are ... grim. Did not expect the first example of COPYPASTA to end up referring to a mass shooter's manifesto, but ... that's what happened? I think I'm just gonna quietly step away from Memeville and go back to Old Manville, where I rightly belong and may in fact be mayor.
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Relative difficulty: Easy
Word of the Day: CROMULENT (1A: Perfectly acceptable, humorously) —
Cromulent first appeared in the February 18, 1996 episode of The Simpsons called "Lisa the Iconoclast," in what could be considered a throw-away line given during the opening credits. The schoolchildren of Springfield are watching a film about the founding father of Springfield, Jebediah Springfield. The film ends with Jebediah intoning, “A noble spirit embiggens the smallest man.” One teacher at the back of the room leans over to another and says that she’d never heard the word embiggen before she moved to Springfield. “I don't know why,” the other teacher replies. “It's a perfectly cromulent word.”The word cromulent ended up in the script courtesy of a showrunner’s challenge to the writers. According to the DVD commentary for The Simpsons, the showrunners asked the writers to come up with two nonce words that sounded like words that could be in actual use. Writer David X. Cohen came up with cromulent as one of those words. It means "acceptable" or "fine."(merriam-webster.com)
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The hardest part of the NW, aside from my total ignorance of COPYPASTA, was a. spelling OUROBOROS correctly (I knew the term but had it as OROUBOROS at first) (15A: Serpentine symbol of rebirth, from the Greek for "tail-devouring"), and b. trying to figure out what the hell kind of RACK it was in that damned kitchen if it wasn't a SPICE RACK (17A: Kitchen organizer = PLATE RACK). Legitimately had 4D: Bon ___ as MUC for a bit. Misspelled OUROBOROS + SPICE RACK = Bon MUC. But I fixed the spelling error on the serpentine symbol of rebirth, forced Bon to be MOT and got the car going again. Wanted "OWIE!" before the reduplicative "OW, OW!" (23D: Cry after stubbing a toe, maybe), but that was the last small hiccup before I got dumped out into the center of the grid and things got much simpler.
I had ITALIANI instead of ITALIANO (35D: Romano o siciliano) ("o" is "or" so yes the answer needs to be singular). I was originally trying to remember the Italian word for "cheese" before realizing that the words were merely terms for inhabitants of different regions. Seemed weird to have PASTES IN in the grid (29D: Affixes to a scrapbook, say) when COPYPASTA's whole second half is essentially a playful, only-one-letter-changed reworking of PASTE. Didn't love that, to be honest. Also didn't love ALAMOS in the plural (41D: Alternatives to Budgets). I got it easily enough, but can't imagine using it. "'Look at all those ALAMOS,' he said, gazing at the section of the rental lot that contained the rental cars that were available specifically from Alamo and not, say, Dollar or Avis." It's not really a plausible scenario. And I don't get how PONY RIDES are "hits?" (31D: Fair hits?). Is the idea that they are popular ... rides? At (county) fairs? Like ... they are "hits" with kids? I know you can't see me, but I'm making a face that's somewhere between dubious and "yikes." Are PONY RIDES still things? Are they hits? I have no purchase on this particular corner of the equine world (or any corner of the equine world, for that matter). Is "DR. DEATH" actually about Kevorkian? [...checks internet...] Huh, it's not. That is what they called Kevorkian, isn't it? [...checks internet...] Yes, it is. Perhaps such a reference was deemed too distasteful or upsetting, although I'm not sure how it's any less distasteful or upsetting than the "gross malpractice" of the actual physician "DR. DEATH" is based on. Seems there's no non-grim way to clue "DR. DEATH" so we have this heavily vague clue that doesn't require you to think about specifics (27A: True-crime series about a physician who commits gross malpractice). I guess that's fine. I thought "DR. DEATH" was also the title of a Stephen King novel, but turns out I was thinking of "DOCTOR SLEEP."
Speaking of sleep, I've stayed up late to blog (unusual for me) so I need to go get some. See you Sunday, I hope.